


A Perfect Shell

by Anonymous



Category: Psych
Genre: Angst, Claustrophobia, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jamba Juice, Kidnapping, Morse Code, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, henry is kind of rude, how do you summary, im serious there is so much angst, mute!shawn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 01:16:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1570559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A traumatic kidnapping leaves Shawn mute, and in the care of Juliet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first AO3 attempt *raises the roof but only a little*

"Morning." Jules yawned and pushed a stubborn lock of hair out of her eyes. She didn't expect any answer, she hadn't heard one in weeks, but it was the thought that counted, right?  


Shawn gave a slight smile and nodded in response, contemplating the full bowl of chopped pineapple in front of him with an otherwise blank expression. His hands were tense, one curled into a fist and the other pressed to his torso, near the slowly-healing bullet wound. There were fading scars around his wrists from a too-tight zip tie. His hair was ruffled, as if he'd been running his hands through it.  


It killed Jules to see him like this. Unanimated, unhappy, un-Shawn. His specifically labelled food in the fridge was untouched. His polo shirts and jeans left stuffed in a drawer. The cases meant for him at the office left unsolved. His voice gone, for who knew how long.  


Gus was utterly lost. He didn't know how to help Shawn, because Shawn avoided any direct conversation about the incident or any mention of guns, for that matter. Gus apparently reminded him too much of the Santa Barbara Police Department. Jules didn't know why she was exempt to that rule, but she was the only one who could even get close to him without his hands starting to shake. Gus understood, somewhat, but Jules didn't even know if Shawn could tell how hurt his best friend was that Shawn couldn't get within a two-foot radius of him.  


Lassiter had showed a strange amount of compassion and explained to Jules that none of this was her fault, the Shawn just needed time, that the therapy would help. Of course, he ended with a snide comment about Shawn's utter incompetence to begin with, but Jules assumed he was feeling somewhat guilty about the incident as well and didn't know how to express it.  


"You have a meeting today," Jules reminded.  


Shawn nodded, one eyebrow lifting in a shadow of his previous expressive personality. He pushed the bowl of fruit away untouched, and Jules's heart twinged.  


She had to refer to his therapy sessions as meetings or he would become even more unresponsive, apparently some repressed feelings about not needing therapy or something. His dad had been the first to make that mistake. He'd told Shawn to basically "get to his therapy session and get over it," and it had taken Jules almost half an hour of soft words and gentle touches before Shawn's heart rate returned to normal. His dad hadn't meant to be as insensitive as he was, Jules could see that the elder Spencer had noticed how badly his words had affected Shawn, but Shawn gave Henry a wide berth after that.  


"Sleep well?"  


Shawn shrugged with one shoulder, more of a twitch than anything else. Both of them knew he hadn't slept more then a few hours a night since the incident, but what else was there to talk about? He had bad nightmares, she assumed. She'd never had to take care of a mute person with post-traumatic stress disorder, and it wasn't the easiest thing in the world.  


Jules bit her lip and managed a smile. Shawn finally met her gaze, but it did nothing to make her feel better. His normally bright hazel eyes were dull, almost grey and ringed with dark purple. He finally reached forward, picked up a piece of pineapple and tossed it to her. Jules was surprised and let it bounce off her face before she realized what was happening.  


Shawn almost smirked. Jules could see the small wrinkles around his eyes deepen slightly, and his eyes lightened a little, but the expression was gone in a second. The dead-eyed look returned.  


Jules excused herself and almost ran for the next room, but slowed so that Shawn wouldn't feel like it was his fault. When she returned, Shawn was gone, but there was a note on the counter and a dent out of the pineapple in the bowl. She picked up the note and had to smile, though her vision blurred at the edges.  


Not broken, just bent, and yes, I do mean to communicate in song lyrics. Love, me.


	2. Chapter 2

"Detective O'Hara." Chief Vick sounded even more authoritative than usual, though it was hard to tell over the phone if she was concerned or condescending. "Are you sure you're okay to be working this case?"  


Jules took a deep breath, locked her car doors, and responded with a firm "Yes. I am perfectly capable."  


"The personal side of this isn't going to get in the way?"  


Jules gritted her teeth in determination and slotted her keys into the ignition. "Of course not, Chief. It's just as personal for everyone else."  


Chief Vick gave a humourless laugh. Jules didn't have the energy to respond. Shawn's would-be killer didn't deserve another minute of freedom.  


"How is he?" Vick's voice softened, and Jules remembered that the Chief was a mother herself, caring and kind when it wasn't inconvenient. "Is he still..."  


"Quiet? Yeah." Jules closed her eyes and words seemed to force themselves out of her mouth. "I'm so worried, Chief, is there anything I can do that I haven't been? What if I'm doing it wrong? I'm not a medical professional!"  


"Detective O'Hara."  


"I mean, I'm doing the best I can, but I can't tell what he needs because he can't tell me! He's not even Shawn anymore!"  


"O'Hara," Vick tried again.  


"What if he never talks again?!" Jules burst out. She'd kept her cool around Shawn, but if she was going to lose it at some point, the Chief wouldn't be the worst person to explode at. All of her emotions were suddenly bubbling to the surface. "If I had gotten there sooner, would he have been safe? Would he be okay now? This-s is my fa-fault, I--"  


"Juliet."  


The single word stopped Jules immediately, and the blonde realized that she had been sobbing into the phone.  


"Juliet, I'm going to take you off this case."  


Jules wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, which came away streaked with black makeup. Her face probably looked no better. "N-no, Chief, I've got it under control, I promise, pl-lease let me fix this--"  


"I want you to do the same things you've been doing with Shawn. I just got an email from his counsellor and you're doing the best you could be doing right now, alright? You're doing fine."  


Jules only sniffled. She needed to solve this for Shawn. Needed to feel the satisfaction of cuffing the criminal who'd hurt him.  


"None of this is your fault. Take care, sweetheart." Chief Vick had slipped into full parenting mode at this point, and at any other time, Jules would have joked about it, but she just smiled halfheartedly.  


"Thank you," Jules mumbled, subdued. She hung up and tossed the phone aside, onto the passenger seat, then let her head come to rest on the top of the steering wheel.


	3. Chapter 3

Jules parked in the closest spot to the nondescript building Shawn was supposed to attend every week, starting two weeks previously. He usually came out to the car when it was time to leave, but today his very short dark-haired therapist opened the door partway and waved at Jules to come in. She cautiously did so, wiping the last signs of her meltdown from her eyes, though they still looked smudged with eyeliner.  


"Nice to finally meet you. I'm Sophie." The therapist held out a hand to shake. Jules took it firmly with a half-smile.  


"He's in here. I thought you'd want to hear the plan."  


"That'd be great."  


Sophie led Jules back through a door into a small office. Shawn was sitting in one of the chairs, completely tensed up and silent, as usual.  


"Hey, Shawn." Jules sat down next to him lightly and offered her hand to him. Shawn took it almost immediately, gripping it tightly. She raised her eyebrows in a silent you okay?, but Shawn didn't bother responding. Both of them knew that he wasn't. "D'you want to wait in the car?"  


Shawn shook his head. Sophie smiled kindly and lifted a page of her notes, scanning through it quickly. "Considering the experience he's been through, Shawn is doing well. We can try a few different types of therapy, but first we're going to try a kind of cognitive behavioral therapy, which focuses on easing triggers and changing harmful thought patterns."  


Jules tried not to wince away from Shawn's death grip on her hand. "In English, please?"  


"People who've been in situations like Shawn's often react badly to words or actions that remind them of the incident. These are called triggers. Over the next few weeks, we can figure out what his triggers are and learn to cope with them." Sophie continued speaking, but Jules was hardly listening. Shawn's pointer finger was tapping her knuckle in a repeating pattern, Morse code. She'd learned Morse once, and that was enough to understand what Shawn was communicating. taptaptap. Tap. Tap. Tap. taptaptap.  


S-O-S  


Jules cut off Sophie's speech immediately. Sophie was a nice enough lady, and Jules didn't mean to be rude, but Shawn's palm was sweating against hers and Jules didn't know how long he'd last. "Sorry, looks like we lost track of time. We have someplace to be...?" She finished lamely, and Sophie's glance flicked to Shawn, who stared back.  


S-O-S-S-O-S-S-O-S  


"Oh, okay. I'll see you next week, then." Sophie held out her hand. Jules stood and shook it with the hand that wasn't being crushed and coded onto. 

Once they were out of the building, Shawn's grip on Jules's hand relaxed and both he and Jules let out a breath of relief. Shawn took a deep breath and just stood there on the sidewalk. Jules waited for a moment, examining his very nice profile. Adorable nose. Strong jawline. Furrowed eyebrows. Light stubble. Messy hair. Jules wondered if he still noticed things and didn't say, or if he just saw enough to not run into anything. She didn't know which would be worse, losing the gift or not using it.  


After a minute or so, she realized she'd been staring and asked, "Why don't you like it in there?"  


Shawn met her eye unwaveringly, and then his pointer finger began to tap her hand at an incredibly fast rate, too fast for Jules to understand. She had no idea when he'd had time to practice Morse, but he was much better at it than she was.  


"Again," Jules prompted.  


The former psychic slowed and tried again. S-M-A-L-L  


"You don't like small spaces?"  


Shawn gave her a look that almost resembled one of Gus's old no, really faces, but it was gone in a blink. Jules's mouth twitched, and then Shawn's did as well. He reached up almost timidly and tucked her bangs behind her ear. His finger tapped her knuckles, slow and deliberate, giving no room for error.  


B-E-A-U-T-I-F-U-L


	4. Chapter 4

Sometime in the next few days, Shawn acquired a notepad. He sometimes wrote to communicate, though he preferred one-word Morse communication or just sitting there quietly. He still hadn't cracked a real smile, and Jules made that her goal. Without a smile, he wasn't Shawn. He was a shell, a shadow of what he had been.  


"Where'd you get that?" She asked one evening while she caught up on paperwork. Shawn appeared to be drawing.  


tapTAP. taptap. Pause. tapTAP. Pause. taptaptap Pause. taptaptap Pause. taptap Pause. tap  


L-A-S-S-I-E  


"Lassiter gave this to you?" Juliet smiled in surprise. Shawn held a finger to his lips. "Did he tell you not to tell me?"  


Shawn nodded and tossed the notepad onto the table. Below a detailed sketch of an eyeball, there was messy writing. It took Jules a moment to decipher it.  


"Lion King it is." 

\---

Partway through the Lion King, Jules fell asleep. Her head came to rest against Shawn's shoulder, and he ran a hand through her hair. She was perfect, really. Didn't deserve to be stuck at home watching some pathetic person like him.  


Somewhere in the apartment, something made a dull thudding noise, a few minutes after the movie ended. Shawn froze, his hand falling to Jules's shoulder and holding on for dear life. It was him, Shawn was sure of it, he was coming to get Shawn for good this time. Shawn wanted to tell Jules to wake up, to get her gun, anything, but the wall in front of his words was back, blocking him, not letting him say a thing.  


Jules stirred, her eyes fluttering open. She seemed to notice the hand gripping her shoulder first, and then the look of utter terror on Shawn's face. "What is it?"  


Shawn opened and closed his mouth uselessly against the wall, then pointed over the back of the couch and tapped frantically onto the palm of her hand with a trembling finger. I-H-E-A-R-D-A-N-O-I-S-E  


Jules looked confused, and Shawn thought maybe he'd gone too fast, but then she said, "Do you want me to go see what it was?"  


Shawn nodded. The wall mocked him, and he tried to make it be quiet, but it never worked.  


If you start talking now, you'll never stop.  


The police department was probably grateful when you were kidnapped, they didn't have you barging in and ruining things.  


Obnoxious. Unnecessary. Incompetent. They never wanted you around anyway--  


"Shawn?" Jules had returned, and she had a plastic pitcher in her hand. "The wind knocked this off the windowsill."  


Shawn's face felt hot, but his breathing slowed and the wall was quiet again. He nodded a silent thank-you.  


"You want to head to bed?" Jules looked concerned. Shawn got up and hugged her tightly, not sure how else to reassure her without words. D-O-N-T-W-O-R-R-Y he tapped into her back over and over until Jules relaxed, letting the letters blur together. DONTWORRYDONTWORRYDONTWORRY  


Jules's hand lightly ran over the back of his head. "My job is to worry, Shawn."  


Shawn snorted, barely a laugh, but his fingers stilled.  


"Are you tired?"  


Shawn was. He was exhausted, though not just in the way sleep could help. He didn't want to be scared of getting shot again, he didn't want to be silent, he didn't want to jump at every noise outside, he didn't want to be pitied, he didn't want to have to hide how much his shoulder hurt. It had been dislocated when he'd been shoved into the trunk of that silver car, and his doctor said it would heal by itself. It hadn't, but Jules didn't need to worry about anything else, so he kept it to himself.  


Shawn just shrugged and shook his head.  


"Okay." Jules watched him closely, and Shawn felt uncomfortably like a specimen under a microscope. "Good night."  


He nodded and watched her leave, her feet shuffling and ponytail swishing.  


He should sleep. His mind felt permanently fuzzy and he hated the feeling of being tired all the time. Vaguely, he remembered back when he had too much energy, but he hardly knew what energy was anymore. Sleep brought dreams, and dreams brought memories of harsh truths, darkened rooms, and angry green eyes.  


Shawn settled back onto the couch, clutching a throw pillow to his abdomen tightly. He needed to hold something while he slept, and Jules probably wouldn't want to participate, so a pillow it was. It also helped his bullet wound, which still needed pressure to keep from aching.  


He didn't mean to fall asleep, but next thing Shawn knew, he was walking with Gus. His subconscious thought some mundane thoughts about how Gus was, he hadn't seen him in a while. Gus was rolling his eyes at whatever lively one-sided argument Shawn was having, while Shawn gestured widely to prove his ridiculous point. His subconscious made a jab about how he never stopped talking, and then for some reason Shawn opted to walk back to his place. That was right, he'd made some bet with Gus and lost, the consequences including being outlawed from the Blueberry. He'd rounded a corner and walked about three steps down the mostly empty street before rough hands had ripped him from the sidewalk, thrown his cell phone aside, and practically thrown him into the waiting trunk of a silver Volkswagen Beetle. Shawn had yelled for help, yes, but there was no one around. It was a late Tuesday night in autumn, in an area of mostly small businesses. Crushing dark surrounded him. The trunk was small and stuffy, a living nightmare. It bounced around as the car drove, making his shoulder ache, and he was more afraid than he had ever been in his life--  


"Shawn!"  


The former psychic woke abruptly, bolted upright, and dry-heaved, doubling over the pillow still crushed to his chest, which was filled with searing pain. A hand rubbed small circles into his back slowly, and he heard singing somewhere in the back of his mind, the part that wasn't going insane.  


Shawn choked on nothing and coughed hard, trying to get his breath back and feeling the scars on his wrists as the pillow scraped against them. He felt like he was going to die. He was going to die. This was it.  


Jules slowly lowered herself onto the couch next to him so that she had full view of his face, which was panicked and streaked with tears. She'd never seen him like this, and honestly never wanted to see it again. "Shawn, breathe in, two, three, four, out, two, three, four."  


Shawn's hazel eyes focused on her blue ones like a lifeline, and he breathed. In. Hold. Out. Hold. In. Hold. Out. Hold.  


Once he could breathe normally without help, Jules took his hand, held it palm up, and tapped carefully, not wanting to make any mistakes. Shawn tuned out the dull ache in his torso and shoulder to make sure he didn't miss a letter.  


taptaptap Pause. tapTap. Pause. taptapTap. tap Pause. tap  


S-A-F-E  


Shawn looked from Jules's almost perfectly manicured finger to his calloused palm to Jules's face. And he smiled.


	5. Chapter 5

Jules woke with a raging headache and a subsequent bad mood. Her blankets were carefully pulled over her, so she assumed Shawn was already awake. Her alarm clicked and blared in her ear, and she threw it across the room, where it smashed into the wall and broke into three pieces.  


She heard a voice in the kitchen, definitely not Shawn's but still familiar, and she wondered if she should get up and investigate or not. Her sour mood curled in her stomach like a snake, and Jules decided she wasn't going to put up with random people in her apartment. She pulled a blanket around her shoulders and stomped about halfway to the kitchen before she started to be able to make out the voice.  


"--Can't just live your life like this, Shawn." It was none other than Henry Spencer. He had quite the nerve, didn't he?  


There was tapping on the table, angry and loud enough for Jules to understand a L-E-A-V before the tapping stopped. Jules stepped forward enough to see that Henry had taken hold of Shawn's wrist, holding his fingers still. "You can talk, I know you can. If you want to continue with this psychic thing, you have to talk."  


Shawn seemed to be staring through his father, and fought almost violently to get his wrist free. Jules didn't know whether to break them apart or go back to bed. She was curious as to whether Henry's direct method would work. Shawn didn't get along with his dad, sure, but the senior Spencer had a good affect on Shawn, grounded him in a way. On the other hand, Shawn looked terrified out of his mind, which was not a good thing.  


"Come on." Henry watched his son sadly, and seemed totally oblivious to Jules standing in the doorway. "It's just a mental block, you can do it."  


Shawn drummed his free thumb on the tabletop. tapTap. Pause. Tap. Tap. Tap.  


N-O  


tapTap. Tap. Tap. Tap. tapTap. Tap. Tap. tapTap. Tap. Tap. Tap. tapTap. Tap. Tap. Tap.  


NONONONONONONONO  


With a sigh of frustration and disappointment, Henry released Shawn's now-shaking wrist, which the younger Spencer promptly pulled back and hid under the table. "You never had a problem with talking before."  


Jules gave a small hum of agreement before remembering that her presence was supposed to be secret. Both father and son turned to look at her, Shawn relieved and Henry surprised.  


"Sorry. Don't let me interrupt. Where were we? Shawn talking nonstop?" Jules pulled the blanket tighter around herself like a robe and swept over to the coffeemaker with a scowl. Shawn's notepad was tossed onto the counter next to her elbow with a whisper of paper, and she heard a chair scrape back from the table and hurried footsteps leave the room. "Shawn!" she called after him, turned, and walked out of the kitchen, wondering how she'd scared him off. Jules shot Henry a look that clearly told him not to move an inch, then followed Shawn to the living room.  


The former psychic detective was sitting in front of the couch on the floor, one of the throw pillows clutched to his stomach again. He did that a lot, and Jules found it strange. Did he feel better when he was hugging something? Was it just a habit he'd picked up somewhere? Whatever the case, it didn't look like the most comfortable position in the world. When he saw Jules come in and sit down, he looked up, reached out with one hand, and tapped onto her hand so fast that Jules had no idea what was going on until she realised it was just the same five letters repeating over and over in an eerie cadence. S-O-R-R-Y  


"Shawn, don't."  


SORRYSORRYSORRY  


"You have nothing to apologise for." Jules scooted over next to him and gently held his fingers still, careful not to constrain his wrist, as she assumed that was what Shawn's dad had done wrong.  


Shawn's eyes looked dead again, and Jules knew better than to reason with him when he looked like that. So she focused on something else. "You know what sounds good? A smoothie."  


A faint flicker of recognition in Shawn's eyes, and his hold on the pillow lessened.  


"What do you say we ditch your dad and go to Jamba Juice?" Jules ran a finger over the top of Shawn's hand in a circle. Work could wait half an hour. Vick would understand.


End file.
